Accidental Nanny

by Lindsay Armstrong

Francesca considered; ‘I wouldn’t mind a brandy and soda if you’ve got it.’

  He had it, and went into the kitchen to get some ice to go with it. Ice that clinked against the cut-glass Stuart crystal tumbler he handed her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she murmured, and added, ‘To what do I owe this honour, Mr Stevensen?’

  He poured his own drink, then turned to study her thoughtfully before sitting down in a comfortable armchair opposite her.

  She’d changed for dinner into a light, airy, pale blue dress with a round neck and cap sleeves, loose and waistless so that it floated around her when she moved. With it she wore blue sandals that exactly matched her dress and which consisted of slender straps over the front of her feet, no backs and small wedge heels. She’d pulled her heavy hair back at the sides and secured it with combs. The pale blue of the dress and shoes highlighted her smooth, tanned limbs.“

  He said at last, as she watched him with growing enquiry in her eyes, ‘Is it such an honour, Chessie?’

  ‘Considering how little you like me, I would imagine so.’

  ‘And that’s something you plan, to change, is it?’

  ‘No.’ A smile curved her mouth. ‘Sorry. You see, the very last thing I would like to hear you say is “I told you so, Chessie”!’

  ‘You think I would?’

  ‘I’m sure you would.’

  He laid his head back and studied the ceiling for a moment. ‘So you thought this was a prelude to…’ He paused, lifted his head and squinted at his glass wryly. ‘To getting myself into the position where l would be able to say that to you?’

  ‘It crossed my mind.’ Her blue gaze rested on him with some amusement.

  ‘And you don’t have any qualms about being alone in a house miles from anywhere with someone about whom you cherish those suspicions?’

  ‘You mean am I worried that you’re going to leap on me and rape me? No, I’m not. Not in front of Jess. But of course there’s always seduction,’ she went on cheerfully.

  ‘You say that…’ he paused again to look at her rather intently ‘…as if that holds absolutely no fears for you either.’

  She smiled. ‘When you’ve had as much experience in being the object of attempted seduction as I have, Raefe—may I call you that? —you can see it coming for miles.’

  ‘What about love? Has that ever happened to you?’

  ‘I’ve thought so a couple of times, but it proved to be the same old thing.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘So you weren’t very adept at distinguishing between love and seduction—at least a couple of times?’

  ‘Touché,’ she responded, a shade drily. ‘I won’t have that problem with you, though, will I? I mean, should the undoubted physical awareness we share ever show signs of getting out of hand, I’ll always know it’s not love, won’t I?’

  He took his time, staring at her openly but enigmatically before he replied. When he did it was to say musingly, ‘I’m not sure if you’re a straight-shooter, Chessie Valentine, or—’ his lips twisted ‘—the absolute opposite’

  ‘Don’t I know it—I have to wonder the same about you, amongst other things.’ She shrugged casually.

  ‘All right,’ he said abruptly, and set down his half-finished drink. ‘Id have to be a block of wood not to be impressed by you in certain respects. I hope that makes you happy. But I have also to tell you I have no intention of doing anything about it.’

  Francesca considered. ‘That’s fine with me, as a matter of fact,’ she responded at last, and put down her own drink to stand up. ‘Because, while I believe in being honest, I have also to tell you that I’m just as contemptuous of purely physical attractions as you are. You don’t own the moral high ground, Mr Stevensen, and it might be a good idea if you remembered that. Goodnight.’ She walked out, taking Flo with her.

  Raefe Stevensen watched the way the pale blue material swirled around her long legs, how it fell against her supple figure, how she held her head as if she had the whole world at hers feet. And he picked up his drink to finish it in one long swallow. Then he examined the empty glass with a frown and thought, how could she possibly be for real? How the hell could Frank Valentine’s daughter be…?

  He put the glass down impatiently, stood up and went to a cabinet, locked but with the key in it. He turned it soundlessly; He took out s a silver-framed photo and stared down at the features behind the glass, remembering how Jess had laid a hand on his cheek earlier in the day and reminded him so much of Olivia… He clamped his teeth together, hard, and put the picture away.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TO SAY that an armed truce existed for the next few days would have been to state the case accurately.

  Raefe, with the help of Annette’s father, Bob Brown, the head stockman, began to construct the beach shelter and barbecue. This time of the year, as Francesca had come to be instructed, was generally known as the ‘wet’, and was a fairly slack time for cattle stations. A time when the staff was cut to skeleton proportions because no serious mustering of cattle was done, and a time when those staff remaining worked on maintenance of fences, cattle yards, equipment and so on.

  It seemed that Raefe was leaving Banyo Air to run itself at the moment as well, or at least he wasn’t involved in such a hands-on way as before. And he spent as much time as possible with Jess, taking her out and about with him around the property—expeditions Francesca was not invited on.

  She caught herself feeling slightly chagrined about this, because she would have loved the opportunity to compare Bramble with Wirra—the amount of stock they carried and so on—and because she was acquiring a fondness for the wild country of Cape York, with its pink, sandy earth tones, its deep ochre bauxite rocks , its white beaches and magnificent seascapes.

  She was also—and this struck her as something to be wary of—revelling at times, in the lifestyle the Stevensens had carved out for themselves in the wilderness. The lack of television didn’t bother her in the slightest. There was an extensive library and there was the piano, which she didn’t play as well as Sarah but played well enough to enjoy herself and be able to give Jess some lessons, and there was plenty to do inside the house and out of it. She would have dearly liked to do some gardening—-something she’d never done in her life before but found strangely alluring—and there were times when she would have loved to jump on a horse or a motorbike and really exert herself checking fences, bores and pumps, and all the other things she’d learnt to do on Wirra. But even without this it was curiously satisfying to go to bed at night knowing she’d contributed some small bit to the well-being of Bramble.

  Except, that was, on those occasions when she’d been left behind, and she forced herself to be honest about that and admit that, on top of all else, she simply felt left out… .

  As for. Raefe, during those days he was scrupulously polite but unmistakably distant.

  It’s quite possible he doesn’t altogether trust me with Jess, Francesca thought once, and shrugged. But the truth was she and Jess were getting along like a house on fire, and the little girl seemed unaware of the constraint between her father and her governess. Mind you, Francesca thought, why should Jess expect any different? She drew her brows together. Am I imagining it or do I detect that Raefe Stevensen doesn’t altogether like the closeness that has grown between us? And why is there never any mention of his wife?

  She pondered this with another frown, remembering the day Sarah had almost tangibly drawn a curtain over that topic. There were also no photos of anyone who might conceivably have been his wife, and Jess never mentioned her mother. If she had died, surely some reminders of her would have been kept? If she had run off with another man—well, perhaps not. Could it be, in consequence, that Raefe Stevensen was not utterly cynical on the subject of Francesca Valentine alone—but about the whole tribe of women?

  Four days after their confrontation in the lounge, she was to discover not only that he did resent her closeness to his daughter, but also why.

  It
all started out innocently on a rainy day although that was a mild term. It poured all day and had poured all night. This effectively‘ put a stop to the work on the beach shelter, which apparently now only required the finishing touches—and just as effectively brought the three of them into each other’s company. But while Francesca and Jess were able to occupy themselves happily with a mixture of schoolwork and play, by mid-afternoon Raefe was prowling around the house like a caged tiger.

  ‘Daddy doesn’t like having nothing to do,’ Jess confided.

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘Well, I thought I’d clean out my dolls’ house—is that a good idea, Chessie?’

  ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea. Rainy days are great days for house-cleaning. Do you need a hand?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Jess said, importantly. ‘I’m going to rearrange all the furniture. If those gollies don’t worry the life out of me.’

  ‘I could take them into the kitchen with me. I thought I’d make some chocolate-chip biscuits. How is Mo these days, by the way?’

  Jess glanced affectionately at Mo and Flo, who hung side by side from the bookcase. ‘Just what Daddy said he would be. Quite re…?’

  ‘Reformed,’ Francesca supplied.

  ‘I think you were right, too—it’s all because Flo is a girl.’

  Francesca grinned and took the two golliwogs with her to the kitchen where she sat them side by side on the counter and warned, ‘Just behave, you two!’

  ‘Or you’ll…?’ Raefe said from the doorway.

  She swung round ruefully. ‘It must be catching.’

  ‘I guess it must,’ he drawled, and strolled over to pull a chair out from the kitchen table. He turned it around and sat astride it with his arms propped along the back. ‘I was wondering whether you were going to threaten them with being turned into girls, or perhaps you’re planning to construct mates for them?’

  ‘You heard it all,’ Francesca, said after at moment, and glanced at him narrowly. Because she had an odd little feeling that he hadn’t enjoyed what he’d overheard.

  ‘I heard it all,’ he agreed, then said abruptly, ‘Do you think she lives too much in this make.-believe world?’

  ‘I—well…’ Francesca said cautiously as she got out the flour et cetera. ‘She’s an only child, and she’s only seven—’

  ‘But in your experience of seven-year-olds?’

  Francesca paused and stared at the package of chocolate chips in her hand. ‘I have no real experience of so-called “normal” seven-year-olds,’ she said at last.

  ‘But you told me you were a teacher.’

  ‘I said I had an arts degree with a teaching diploma, but I haven’t actually taught.’

  ‘I don’t know why, but that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.’ His grey gaze was mocking.

  Francesca put the chocolate chips down carefully. ‘Well, I know why it doesn’t surprise you—-you’d be simply devastated if I wasn’t totally as black as you’ve painted me, Mr Stevensen.’

  ‘I thought we’d got to Raefe?’

  ‘You thought wrong. That was an aberration,’ she said shortly.

  ‘So how come you did a teaching diploma with no intention of teaching?’

  ‘I had a very strong-minded headmistress, if you must know. She took the view that nothing was incapable of changing, not even the Valentine millions, and that in any case it was a waste of one’s talents to spend one’s life being as spoilt little rich girl. She was also responsible for sending me to a cordon bleu cooking school, and she forced me to take a dressmaking and sewing course.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘So that explains that.’ watched her sifting flour a then rubbing butter into it. ‘But you must have disappointed her somewhat, Chessie. You don’t teach, I would imagine the time you spend with handicapped children is not exactly a career and, forgive me for doubting you, I’d be most amazed if you’d sewed any of the clothes I’ve seen you wear…’

  He looked at her in amusement, but it was entirely at her expense, and pointedly took in the long pearly grey skirt she was wearing with a white cotton bustier top. Both articles were light, casual and comfortable, perfect for the heavy humidity that lay upon the air like a warm blanket, but there was no denying. that they were exquisitely styled and made from the finest materials.

  There was also no denying that she wasn’t wearing may bra, although the top was perfectly proper in that it was not see-through. But his gaze lingered on the satiny tanned skin of her throat and shoulders, and the dew of perspiration that was starting to run down between her breasts.

  Francesca controlled the urge to throw something at him. ‘As a matter of fact—and this may have escaped your notice—I am my father’s sole heir to date, so I’m being groomed to take over from him.’

  ‘It’s rather strange that he didn’t remarry, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ Francesca said sharply, and bludgeoned the biscuit mix into a long roll on the floured board. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ she added exasperatedly.

  He raised an innocent eyebrow.

  ‘I forgot to put the chocolate chips in!’ She formed her hands into fists, so as not to transfer the mixture to her skirt, and put them on her hips.

  ‘Sorry—perhaps you could just decorate the biscuits with them? Stick them on top, in other words.’

  She didn’t deign to reply, but started to cut the roll neatly.

  ‘You’re a bit sensitive on the subject of your father, aren’t you?’ he mused after a while. ‘Not that I blame you.’

  Francesca stopped cutting. ‘Very. So be warned, Mr Stevensen. In fact don’t say another word on the subject.’

  He eyed the long knife in her hand and his lips twisted. ‘As you say, Miss Valentine. Is that why you were up at Wirra? Other than escaping the unwanted attentions of at. married man, I mean. To learn about the,Valentine empire?’

  ‘Yes.’ Francesca lowered the knife, although her eyes still glinted with anger. ‘And if you must know I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit of the Bramble operation, so I could compare the two, but I gather that is an honour I’m to be denied.’

  ‘And for a very good reason, Chessie,’ he said softly. ‘Well, two,’ he amended.

  She blinked.

  ‘I’m not in the habit of giving the opposition guided tours of my properties, for one thing—particularly not the kind of opposition who acquired Wirra dishonourably, as your father did.’

  Francesca gasped. ‘He did no such thing!’ ,

  ‘Oh, yes, he did,’ Raefe countered coolly. ‘You see, I happen to know the previous owner of Wirra Station, and I happen to know that he was persuaded to part with it for a song—at least at third less than its true value and more likely half.’

  Francesca stared at him. ‘So that’s it—I mean, I don’t know anything about the actual purchase of Wirra, although I do know that precise values are not finite things, but that’s why you hate the very sight of me!’

  He smiled drily. ‘I thought we’d established that we aren’t actually averse to the sight of each other, Chessie. You made that point a couple of nights ago, rather forcefully.

  ‘Stop,’ she commanded. ‘Don’t think you can throw me off the track by indulging in sexual innuendo. I want to know precisely what happened with Wirra!’

  ‘All right,’ he drawled. ‘The previous owner was in debt to one of your father’s companies. Now, I firmly believe a debt is a debt,‘ but this was a drought-induced debt and the honourable thing would have been for your father either to allow the previous owner to sell Wirra at the best price he could get for it and then meet his obligations or, since the drought had broken, let him work the debt off over a couple of good seasons.

  ‘He didn’t do that. He insisted on negotiating a deal whereby he acquired Wirra dirt-cheap and my friend was I forced to walk away from it with virtually nothing.’

  Francesca realised her mouth was open, and closed it with a click. Then she took a deep breath
and said with dignity, ‘I apologise—’

  ‘You’re: not going to deny it?’ Raefe said mildly.

  ‘I can’t. Not that I knew anything about it, but I do know my father can be a very hard businessman. Also…’ she paused and looked unseeingly at the golliwogs ‘…it makes sense of some of the remarks I overheard when I first arrived; at Wirra—and some of the restraint, I guess. I now see why the Valentine name was not the most highly regarded—I suppose most of the staff were from the previous era?’

  Raefe nodded. ‘But you changed all that, I gather?’

  Francesca subjected him to a proud, deep blue gaze. ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘I’m implying that two weeks of Chessie Valentine doing her stuff on horses and motorbikes et cetera would certainly have helped win them over. And did you swim while you were up there? Well, we know I’m not a block of wood, so why should we expect it of some simple, women-starved bush cowboys?’ he said lazily.

  Her cheeks reddened but she refused to allow her temper to take over, although it left her quivering with effort. ‘You said there were two.’

  ‘Two?’

  ‘Two reasons,’ she ground out. ‘Why I’m not to be shown anything of Bramble.’

  ‘Ah.’ He stood up and pushed the chair back neatly under the table. ‘Yes. I don’t think it’s, a good thing for Jess to get too fond of you, Chessie. Or to come to regard you as an integral part of her lifestyle—you’re only going to be here for another week or so, after all. And if you’ve conceived. the idea that the way to get through to me is via Jess, perish the thought, my dear. I’m quite aware of it, you see.’

  ‘These biscuits don’t have any chocolate chips,’ Jess commented at afternoon tea. I know. I forgot to put them in—or on, Francesca replied. ‘Silly me.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Jess consoled her. ‘It must be the weather.’

  Francesca stared through the wire netting to where the rain was teeming down and obscuring the view, and she lifted her heavy hair off her neck after are moment, at little helplessly. ‘It must be.’